“My son Alfonso,” said our host, introducing us. “Alfonso, I present Mr. Steele and Mr. Herring, two young American gentlemen I have recently met.”
The boy looked up quickly.
“Not of the Seagull!” he exclaimed in English.
“Yes.”
“Then—” he began eagerly; but his father stopped him with a gesture.
“I am making consideration of a proposition they have made to me,” he observed with dignity.
“Perhaps, Alfonso, we may sail back to Colombia in the Seagull.”
The boy’s eyes glistened. They were dark and restless eyes, very like those of his parent. He rose from his chair and shook hands with us with an appearance of cordiality. We now saw he was remarkably short of stature. Although he was sixteen the crown of his head scarcely reached to my shoulder. But he assumed the airs and dress of a man and I noticed he possessed his father’s inordinate love for jewelry.
“Would you prefer in the hotel restaurant to dine, or in our private salon?” inquired the elder De Jiminez.
“It is unimportant to us, sir,” I returned. “Do not alter your usual custom on our account, I beg of you.”